Humerus
by JPsmiles
Summary: A short story...and the title is the spelling I was going for.


It was amazing how many thoughts went running through his head in the short amount of time it took him to fall down the stairs.

'Damn'…'this is gonna hurt'…'there goes another perfectly fine suit'…'don't lose the package'…'the guys are never going to let me live this down'…'protect the face'…'why me?'

The thoughts, and everything else, came to a screeching halt when his back hit the ground. He lay there, stunned, waiting for the air to make its way back into his lungs. Once he could breathe again, he started taking inventory on the rest of his body. Head…hurts…but still attached. Feet…fine. Legs…Check. Ribs…for once not broken. Arms…damn!

A searing pain shot through his upper left arm as he tried to sit up. He fell back to the ground, once again breathless. He allowed himself a few moments to recover before making another attempt at sitting up. This time he was successful, but the pain was so bad that it almost consumed him and sent him crashing back down.

He couldn't stay there; the team was waiting for him. Not to mention that a battered and bruised man sitting at the bottom of a flight of stairs was bound to draw some attention eventually.

He shoved the small brown paper bag inside his jacket pocket. After what he just suffered in getting it, he wasn't about to leave it behind. Painfully reaching up, he grabbed for the railing and pulled himself to his feet with his good arm. 'At least I hurt my left one,' he thought. 'If it was my right, I would really be screwed.'

He staggered over to the Vette moving in a zig-zag like pattern, finding it difficult to control the rest of his functioning limbs. His injured arm was pressed tightly into his side as he turned the key in the ignition and pulled out onto the road. It struck him how it was easy to drive with one arm until it became a necessity. Then suddenly the task became much more difficult and demanded a great deal more attention and focus…neither of which he had much of at the moment.

It wasn't a far trip back to Hannibal's place and for that he was grateful. As it was, he was starting to feel dizzy and nauseous. The lines on the road were starting to blur as he pulled up in front of the apartment complex. It took one excruciating try at reaching across his body for the door handle with his able arm to realize he was never going to make it inside on his own. His head swam as he picked up the phone and dialed the number, again not an easy task with one hand and double vision.

"Yeah," B.A. barked as he picked up.

"Outside," he managed to mumble, his lips not wanting to cooperate.

"Face, that you man? Speak up!"

When B.A. ordered, Face listened. He tried again, this time louder. "Outside…need help." That did it…sapped him of all of his remaining energy. His hand was shaking and the phone slipped and fell to the seat beside him. He carefully rested his head back against the seat and tilted it to the side so he could see the building.

The team came running out the door minutes later. As they got closer, his vision became dimmer. The lights were going out and he welcomed the darkness.

The lights were coming back up. Muffled voices surrounded him and he strained to hear what they were saying.

Hannibal…sounded like Hannibal. "He's coming around."

"Bout time!" B.A. Definitely, B.A.

And, last but never least, there was Murdock. "Have a little compassion, you angry mudsucker. The man just had surgery."

'Surgery? Who had surgery? Did I have surgery?' That would explain the dizziness and nausea. Templeton Peck and anesthesia mixed together about as well as oil and water.

"How are you feeling, kid?" Hannibal asked.

Face licked his lips, they were so dry. "Okay," he mumbled. If 'okay' meant that the bed was rocking and his stomach was rolling.

"You have a nice _trip_?" Murdock smiled, emphasizing the word 'trip'.

"What happened to having a little compassion?" B.A. said sarcastically. "The man just had surgery, remember…and you cracking jokes."

"I was just testing out if the surgery was successful," he retorted.

Face was having trouble following the conversation. "Huh?"

Hannibal sat down carefully next to him on the edge of the bed and spoke slowly. "You came to briefly before they put you under and explained to us how you tripped coming out of the store and fell down the stairs."

"I did?" He couldn't remember and his head hurt too much to think about it. He would just have to take their word for it.

"Sure did, buddy. So how is your sense of humor doing? The doc said he would fix it for ya."

Face figured he must have hit his head really hard in the fall. Murdock was making less sense than normal.

"I done told you already fool to quit it with that 'humor' nonsense." B.A. barked, causing Face to wince as the pounding in his head intensified. "Sorry, Faceman."

Hannibal could see Face struggling to keep up. "You broke your humerus bone when you took the header down the stairs. They had to surgically repair the damage…understand?" Face nodded carefully, and Hannibal continued. "Murdock thinks that you are going to be funnier now that your 'humerus' is back in one piece."

"I'll try," Face slurred, but nothing seemed funny at the moment. He felt sick and his arm was beginning to throb in time with his head. The lights were starting to go out again.

Hannibal could see that Face wasn't feeling well and was about to pass out. "Just get some rest, kid. We'll be here when you wake up."

Face shut his eyes and listened to the familiar voices; just hearing their banter was comforting and made him feel safe.

"Here it is…inside Face's jacket pocket! I knew the kid wouldn't let me down."

"What's in the bag, colonel?"

"Only the finest cigars money could buy!"

"Oh man! All this because of a bunch of smelly cigars?"

"I love it when a plan comes together!"

Face smiled as he drifted off…so did he.


End file.
